


the shadow of your heart

by belovedmuerto



Series: An Experiment in Empathy [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Epic Bromance, Gen, Sussex, a rad bromance, empath!John, here have some fluff, interludes, psychic!AU, psychic!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock undertake an experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shadow of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> OK, this is it for Sussex. I've got the next few bits lined up, so they should hopefully be posted soon(ish).
> 
> Thanks to Castiron and red_adamn, as per the usual. :)

John stops talking, and it takes Sherlock a whole day to realize it.

It’s not that he doesn’t notice that John has stopped using words, because he does. He notices it when instead of asking if Sherlock wants tea and breakfast, John instead feels the inquiry at him, and with a hand on Sherlock’s forearm gives him an image of a steaming mug of tea and a full breakfast.

Sherlock’s stomach rumbles in reply, and John’s smile and amusement linger in the room like a scent.

John hasn’t stopped communicating with him, he’s simply stopped doing so aloud.

When Sherlock realizes this, he decides to go along and switches to wholly non-verbal communication as well.

It’s... nice.

**

It's nice, anyway, until Mycroft drops by again. Of course he does; he's still mad at Sherlock for blowing up the pudding when he'd come round for dinner.

Sherlock reacts to his brother's presence the way he always does: resentment and petulance. This time there's the added element of glee, however, because he can use the fact that he and John haven't spoken in two days to somehow, by whatever twisted logic he'll no doubt come up with to justify it, give his brother the silent treatment.

John, not entirely immune to a bit of sibling-baiting, goes along with it until Mycroft is nearly ready to throw a tantrum of his own. To his credit, though, he is a lot less outwardly obvious about it than Sherlock is.

Apparently Sussex brings out the child in both Holmes brothers.

John and Sherlock are sat on the sofa in the lounge, shoulder to shoulder; proximity makes this easier, and to be frank they've both got used to physical proximity very quickly. Until Mycroft had walked in, they'd been holding hands. Sherlock had been 'telling' John jokes and trying to give him picture riddles to solve. John's much better at it than Sherlock had thought he would be, but John's spent his whole life interpreting the images he gets of people's lives when they touch him.

When Mycroft looks like he's about to start stamping his feet and shouting, John takes pity on him, patting Sherlock on the knee and trying to convey that thought (a rather difficult concept to get across, but John tries anyway) (Sherlock chuckles)--and goes to the kitchen to make tea, Mycroft trailing behind him.

“And why are you not speaking?” Mycroft asks as soon as they're alone in the kitchen.

John can feel the smugness that Sherlock is radiating from the lounge and he feels a sharp pang of annoyance back at him. Sherlock's reaction is to ramp up the smugness by a few notches.

“It's an experiment,” he tells Mycroft. There's really no way to get through this without speaking to the man at all.

“An experiment?” Mycroft's skepticism is overwhelming.

John scowls. “Yes, an experiment. Regarding my empathy, if you must know. Sherlock is attempting to determine the emotions that I project at him.” It's sort of next to the truth, anyway. Right?

“I believe it was you yourself who assured me that you do not project on others unless absolutely necessary, John.”

John scowls some more. Siblings, who'd have 'em? “It's at Sherlock's insistence, and I saw no harm in it. Maybe if we're all lucky he'll learn how to better process his own emotions.”

A wordless protest from Sherlock fills John's head. He can as good as hear the “I heard that!” from the sitting room.

Mycroft gives John one of those ever-so-shrewd Holmesian looks. John returns it with equanimity. “He's not going to talk to you, Mycroft. He's every bit as stubborn as you, if not more so.”

“I'm aware, John. Please refrain from stating the obvious.”

“I only do it by way of reminding you to be the better person.”

The look Mycroft gives him is even more disdainful than Sherlock's best, and John saves the image to give to the younger Holmes. He does so only partly in hope that Sherlock will practice until he can do it better than Mycroft and then direct it at him.

Getting caught up in their rivalry is a vicious cycle. But on the plus side, Mycroft settles for glaring at his brother for a bit and informing him that their mother has asked after him before almost graciously leaving again.

Sherlock jumps for joy-- literally-- once he’s gone.

**

John is the one who breaks the silence after several days. Instead of asking with an image if Sherlock would like breakfast, he clears his throat and, “Breakfast?”

Sherlock looks up at him and pouts. “We’re talking again?”

“I think we’ve got the hang of it, Sherlock.” John shrugs. “I think we should probably head home soon, too.”

“Are you sure, John?”

John takes a moment to consider. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

Sherlock nods.

“Also, I got a text from Greg. He's got a case for you.”

Sherlock brightens immensely. The prospect of a puzzle fills him with delight the way little else is able to do. Even when John had projected delight on him when they'd been practicing that it hadn't settled into all the little spaces in Sherlock's mind the way it does now.

Even better, he wasn't projecting his delight on John, despite its strength.

“Did you respond yet?” Sherlock asks. He already knows the answer.

“Told him we'd come round to look things over tomorrow afternoon.”

Sherlock grins some more.

“Start packing, then?”

 

**

"John, do you... have feelings for me?" He’s been poking at John mentally for long minutes now, slowly drawing him out of sleep without actually touching him to do so. Worry, irritation, frustration all sharpened into points and laid against the surface of John’s brain, propped against the bond between them until they break through John’s sleep.

 _What brought this on?_ John thinks blearily, twisting onto his side to face Sherlock in the dark. "Of course I do, Sherlock. Sometimes I feel like throttling you; sometimes I feel like smothering you in your sleep. Right now I feel like you just woke me up to proposition me. What brings this on?"

"Nothing. Just... checking." Sherlock has been lying awake next to his friend for almost an hour, twisting his hands together over his chest in an uncharacteristic gesture of nerves. He'd been dreaming again, those dreams in which he's part of John, kept safe and whole next to John's heart, in its immense shadow. It has left him feeling more vulnerable than he has in ages, and he doesn't like it one bit.

It scares him, this knowledge of the depth of John's feelings for him. He has no frame of reference for unconditional love, at least none that doesn't include sex, and he isn't interested in sex with John. John's too valuable for that.

"Sherlock, you're my best mate and I love you. I don't have romantic feelings for you, if that's what you're asking."

"They're not precisely unromantic, though, are they?" Sherlock speaks very quietly, and his voice trembles, betraying his fear.

"Sherlock, I'm an empath. Sex is practically impossible for me. Your virtue is safe. Even if I did fancy you sexually, I'd never try to get you to do anything you didn't want to do. Seriously, what brought this on at... three in the morning? We've got a train to catch in five hours."

"Nothing. Really."

"Hrm, right. I'm too knackered to force it out of you right now. Go to sleep, yeah?"

"John, I--"

"I know you do. Did you have to wake me to tell me?" John flips over and snuggles closer to Sherlock, draping himself unselfconsciously across Sherlock’s chest, and Sherlock allows himself to take comfort in that. "C'mon, sleep."

Sherlock is still disturbed by the dream, but reassured by John's easy declaration and his assurances. John really is his best friend; he's never had someone he could call that before. "You're really never going to go, are you?" Sherlock whispers, half-hoping John won't even hear him, and especially not the awe with which he utters the words.

"Nope. You're stuck with me. Sorry about your luck."

"I'm not."

"Love you too. Sleep." John follows his own directive, snuffling against Sherlock's shoulder and dropping easily back into sleep. Eventually, Sherlock follows.

**

Sherlock stops next to the car to look back at the cottage. It seems strange, but he's going to miss it here.

“Don't worry, I'll be dragging you back out here regularly,” John says from the other side of the vehicle, picking up on what Sherlock is feeling if not his precise thoughts.

“John, there's something I feel I should say, before we go.”

“What's up?” John asks.

Sherlock stares intently at the cottage. He tries to form the words, tires to force them out of his throat, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out.

John watches him trying to speak for a few minutes before walking around the car to stand in front of him.

“Sherlock, I know. It’s okay.”

“John.”

John smiles at him. “I think the generally accepted phrasing is ‘I love you’.”

Sherlock sniffs and shakes his head. “That’s entirely inadequate.”

“Not entirely, Sherlock. It’s worked for ages, after all.”

Sherlock makes an inarticulate sound of frustration, clenching his hands and gritting his teeth. Unable to even find the words to frame the vast expanse of everything he feels about John, he grabs as much of it as he can and _shoves_ it at John; not precisely a projection, more a violent ball of emotion, hammering home to John the persistence and the depth of his regard. He doubts he’ll ever have the words to make John understand, not only how well he understands how John feels about him, but that he feels the same.

“Hey,” John says. He wraps his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and draws him forward until their foreheads are pressed together. “I know, it’s all right, really. I understand, Sherlock. I really do.”

Sherlock shuts his eyes and tamps down on the frustration. “Words are entirely unsatisfactory in this situation, John.”

“I know, Sherlock. It’s all right, I promise. I understand. We’ll work on it. Maybe we can come up with something. I hear my flatmate’s a genius, after all.”

Sherlock smiles, relief soothing across the raw spots like balm. “We’re going to be late, John. You’re holding us up.”

John laughs. “Then we better go.”

**

Sherlock is asleep before the train is even at speed. For a moment John wonders if this is one of the reasons Sherlock never uses the Tube, because he cannot help but sleep on trains.

John shifts under Sherlock’s drooping head, trying to get more comfortable without waking him. He sends Lestrade a quick text to let him know they’re on their way back to town.

It’s a few minutes before he gets Greg’s response. _How was the honeymoon? -GL_

John snorts. _Piss off, Greg. -JW_

Lestrade’s response is faster this time. _;-)_

John snorts again at the emoticon and puts his phone away. It’s good to be heading home. He ignores the niggling worry that nothing will have changed when they get back to London.


End file.
